And So It Went
by indie
Summary: Sarah/Derek post 1.07. Derek doesn't like Sarah Connor ... much.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: And So It Went**  
**AUTHOR:** indie  
**CHARACTERS:** Sarah Connor/Derek Reese  
**WARNINGS:** Spoilers for anything through 1:7 "The Demon Hand".  
**DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.  
**SUMMARY: **Derek didn't like Sarah … _much_.  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I don't have a beta for this fandom, so I'm sure there are mistakes.

When he first arrived in 2007, Derek was overwhelmed just like the rest of 'em. Sayles, Sumner, Timms – all were in awe. They were soldiers first and foremost, so they did the job. Recon. Base camp. Supplies. Surveillance. But when your primary mission was to wait until you were needed, there was a whole lot of down time.

Derek had his own non-Connor-sanctioned agenda – tracking down Andy Goode before he doomed the future for the entire human race. Billy Wisher had never been great at subterfuge. Andy Goode might as well have had a bullseye tattooed to his chest. Finding him, tracking him and - when it became apparent Sarah wasn't going to do it - killing him, was no obstacle. In fact, Andy was such an accommodating target, Derek barely needed to keep an eye on him. Which left him with a lot of free time.

Derek kept waiting for the novelty of this time to wear thin, but it never did. In this fragile, finite world, everything … _worked._ Meds that could have saved hundreds in Derek's native time were easily obtained from the corner drugstore. There were bulbs in all the light fixtures and children were free to play in the sunlight. But the people were so oblivious, so soft and reliant on their technology. The urge to grab them – all of them – and shake some sense into them was nearly overwhelming. Didn't they realize what they had? Didn't they realize how quickly it could be lost?

The answer, of course, was no. No one had a clue. Those few far looking individuals who dared to voice such an opinion were shouted down, ostracized from mainstream society. Technology was the way of the future.

They had no idea just how true that was.

Derek came to the past trying to find answers. So far, all he had were more questions. His baby brother, Kyle, was dead. Killed protecting John Connor. That information was so horrible, so devastating Derek had yet to process it. He doubted he would ever process it. His only hope now was to try and find the right set of actions, the correct sequence of events to avert it all. If there was no Judgment Day, then there was no need for Kyle to be sent back in time. That hope was what Derek clung to now. Hope he had the foresight and the perseverance to avoid his birthright. So, yet again, all he had to do now was wait. Wait and see. Protect John.

John …

This John was nothing like the John Connor Derek knew from the future. The boy had the same air of authority, the strange charisma, but he was so damn earnest Derek had no idea what to do with him. The secretive, secluded general from the future was only a distant echo in the open, intense young man. And the way John looked at him … like there was something he had to confess, some connection he needed to make. None of it made any sense.

Derek would stay with them, protect them, mostly because he had no choice. Kyle gave his life to protect John. At least that's what the boy said. So far neither John nor Sarah had offered any real details of Kyle's life with them, or his death. Both Sarah and John shied from the topic and Derek couldn't stand to press them about it. Truth was, he didn't want to know. He didn't want the intimate details of his baby brother's death. Thankfully the hunk of metal didn't seem to know anything about it. Derek couldn't imagine a worse hell than having to hear those details relayed without inflection by that robot.

Derek tilted the bottle and drained it in one long drink. He nodded to the bartender and soon another was placed in front of him. That was definitely another perk of living here and now. The old timers used to reminisce about a cold beer, but the reality of it surpassed any imaginings. He sure as hell didn't miss the rotgut whiskey Hubs used to brew in that rusty tin can contraption.

He took another drink and a girl on the other side of the room smiled coyly at him. He looked away. That was another thing he never got used to. The women. There was this whole production associated with sex here. A ritual. The flirting and talking and sly smiles and light touches. Sex was a biological imperative, a need like any other. Everyone knew that. If the need struck and your partner was willing, you went for it. In ten minutes, you might all be dead. There were none of the games. The human race didn't have time.

Not that Derek couldn't appreciate the women of this time. They were like exotic birds he'd seen pictures of as a child, extinct creatures from another time. They were so soft in every way. At first he relished it. They were all so clean and smelled so good. They wore such frivolous, impractical clothing. They giggled and cooed. They took their time.

But they had the strangest expectations. The more time he spent with them, the more he felt out of place, unable to play by their rules or read their cues.

All in all, the mystique of these women was dwindling. Derek flatly refused to consider whether or not that might have anything to do with Sarah.

Derek didn't like Sarah …_much_. He had to admit, she wasn't exactly what he was expecting. She certainly fit the propaganda. Hard as nails. But she also had a softer side. Her care for John was evident without being some creepy mommy-son hive mind. She distrusted the metal as much as he did – which went a long way with Derek.

Mostly, Sarah was a creature out of time. Sort of like himself. Only not. He lived their future. He knew without a doubt what was coming. He learned the cold, hard lessons necessary to live because he had no choice. Fight or die. But Sarah took it all on a leap of faith. She was once one of those soft, frivolous girls and _something_ happened to change that. He expected her to be a whackjob, some pathological nutball. But she seemed shockingly normal, reasonable even. Sometimes that scared him. Her strength was impressive. She was a little scrap of a girl, but he'd seen her beat a man half to death with her bare hands, hell she'd cracked a few of his ribs their first run-in. She didn't flinch or cry or shirk her duty. She was one hell of a soldier. And he had no idea why.

He didn't need to understand Sarah. It's just that she made him curious sometimes. She didn't _really_ trust him, which was fine. He didn't _really_ trust her either. He didn't particularly trust or _like_ either of the Connors. As far as he was concerned, the Reese boys would have been a lot better off without them. But that was water under the bridge – or maybe not, all this time theory stuff screwed with his head.

His first time with Sarah was weird – and not. It was late, a couple of weeks after the triple eight nearly took him out. He was mostly healed and restless as hell. John was inside – doing homework of all things. The metal was watching the boy as usual. Derek was outside, walking barefoot in the grass pretending like hell he wasn't enamored of everything this time had to offer. Sarah walked down the steps and over to the aging swing set. Derek eventually wandered that way, leaning against one of the rusting metal supports as Sarah rocked back and forth in the swing.

He held out his beer and she took it, swallowing half of what he had left in one swig. He tried not to smile, failed and offered her the cigarette. Grimacing, she waved him off. He shrugged, taking another long drag.

They stayed that way for a long time, not talking. It was easier that way. If they didn't speak to each other, it was much less likely they'd piss one another off. He finally flicked away what remained of the cigarette and reached out, grabbing the chain of Sarah's swing. She looked up at him, but didn't move. He offered her a hand and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. They stood chest to chest, almost touching, not quite. Sarah cocked her head to the side and looked at him. With a small smile, she lifted her hand, cupping his cheek.

He reached up, covering her hand with his own and it seemed to break whatever spell held her. Her posture changed, no less inviting, but somehow less vulnerable. He reached for her and she went willingly.

She was more like home, more like the women of his time, tough and proud and unafraid to take what she wanted. She led him into the garage and he followed eagerly. There wasn't much preamble, no foreplay. They tore at each other's clothes and screwed against the wall like animals. She bit his shoulder hard enough to draw blood, but it was a good pain. At the last moment, he pulled away. He stood there, panting, one arm braced against the garage wall, watching as she cleaned up the mess.

"You don't have to do that," she said.

"What?"

"I can't have more kids."

He didn't reply. He didn't need to. It made sense. Her entire life centered around making sure John lived. Of course she would have gotten herself fixed to avoid having additional children. He didn't know much about Sarah's history, but he knew enough to know she wasn't above using any means necessary to get John the education he needed. He suspected she'd traded long and hard on that currency. 

He reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to him. She allowed it, but when he tried to kiss her, she pulled away. He tried again and again she avoided him, finally pulling away and fumbling for her clothes. He grabbed his discarded jeans and fished another cigarette out of the pocket. He stood there and smoked it nude, watching her dress in the near dark. Straightening her shirt, she finally turned away without a backward glance and returned to the house.

And so it went. They argued. He didn't trust her. She didn't trust him. Neither of them trusted the metal. Sometimes they screwed. It didn't make breakfast any less awkward or any more pleasant. But it took the edge off the nights.

Next to him, she slid onto the barstool. He motioned to the bartender who deposited another beer in front of Sarah.

And so it went.

end section


	2. Funny Things

TITLE:Funny Things

SERIES: And So It Went

AUTHOR: indie

CHARACTERS: Sarah Connor/Derek Reese

TIMELINE: after "The Demon Hand"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Like the previous chapter, this one was edited to meet ffn content guidelines. Alternate versions are available at the SSCFic group at livejournal.

SUMMARY: _Kyle Reese wasn't funny. For better or for worse, Derek Reese certainly had a sense of humor._

* * *

Kyle Reese could have been described in a multitude of ways; intense, earnest, dedicated, battle-hardened, _sweet_. But as much as Sarah loved him – and she _did_ love him – she couldn't say that Kyle had much of a sense of humor. Maybe they didn't have enough time together to really explore that side of him. (She doubted it.) Kyle just wasn't funny.

For better or for worse, Derek Reese certainly had a sense of humor. It tended toward the sardonic and biting, but it was there. Sarah often wished it wasn't.

The similarities between Kyle and Derek were undeniable. There were many times that John did something, the way he moved or the way he said a word, that reminded her of Kyle. But Derek … She supposed it came from the fact that Derek and Kyle had obviously been close. In addition to any shared hard-wired nervous ticks, they picked up each other's mannerisms. More likely, Kyle copied his older brother.

Sarah was still very sketchy on the details and no force on this earth could compel her to ask Derek to clear things up. If she asked questions, he'd ask questions – and she had no intention of answering any of his questions. From what she pieced together, Derek was the elder of the two brothers. She also gathered that from Derek's perspective, Kyle hadn't been gone long. When she knew Kyle, he was her age. Fifteen years later – from Sarah's perspective - Derek appeared near her age as well. However, if both brothers were sent back in time from the same year, that made the age difference between Kyle and Derek significant. Maybe a decade, maybe more, separated the two.

Much like Kyle, Derek had the tendency to try and take things over. It wasn't that she doubted his leadership credentials. A lifetime spent fighting the machines was one hell of a service record. But unlike when Kyle traveled across time, she was no longer some scared, innocent girl. And she sure as hell wasn't going to hand him the reins. It made for a lot of conflict, but that was the cost of doing business. It was easier to fight with Derek – in so many ways. She often reminded herself that regardless of the fact that he was John's uncle, John hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth. The easiest way to get Derek worked up was to keep the machine around. As much as Sarah hated that damn thing, it still seemed like the simplest answer to a lot of their questions. It did their dirty work. It kept Derek pissed off and suspicious.

Sarah had to keep Derek at arm's length. It would be too easy, too easy to take comfort in him, too easy to let him shoulder the burden for a while. And that scared the crap out of her. She wouldn't – _couldn't_ – afford to trust anyone. So, she bitched at Derek. She made him eat at the table, made him sleep on the couch, made him live with one of the machines like the Brady Bunch on acid. She had sex with him, but didn't kiss him. The kissing would have been too much. He smelled like Kyle, she couldn't stand to find out if he tasted like Kyle too.

"Getting dressed up for your boyfriend?"

She turned around and Derek was leaning against the door jamb, smug, taunting smile firmly in place. He was barefoot – again – which she found incredibly odd for a soldier. "My shirt was covered with blood."

He shrugged. "So?" He glanced around the door, out toward the hallway where Charlie waited with John and the machine. "He's a paramedic, isn't he? He shouldn't be turned off by a little blood." The look he gave her was openly challenging.

"Maybe I don't feel like sitting around covered in biohazard," she snapped, rising to the bait. She tugged the bloody shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor, leaving her in a black bra.

His eyes raked over her body. "Doesn't he have a wife?"

"Yes," she replied, pulling a clean shirt over her head. "What's it to you?"

"It's nothing to me," he said dryly. "I just didn't realize you were into breaking up families."

She watched him carefully, crossing the room to stand directly in front of him. "Charlie's a friend."

He looked unflinchingly into her eyes. "Charlie's a liability."

She leaned into his face. "Go after him and it won't be pretty."

He smiled at her, but it was just a baring of teeth. "You seem to care about him quite a bit. You sure John's father's out of the picture?"

She smiled in genuine amusement and chuckled. Oh, that was a good one. Charlie as John's father. Big laugh. She wanted to tell Derek the truth right there just to see the look on his face. Instead she said, "Are you_jealous_?"

She expected a snappy reply, but instead he just looked at her for a few long moments. "Jealous?" he dead panned. "Why would I be jealous? Just because you can't get enough of me? Nah. I don't have any reason to think there's anything between us."

She smirked. "You_are_ jealous."

His expression was not pleasant. "Bitch."

"Pussy." She shouldered past him and out into the hallway.

End Section


	3. Tipping Point

**TITLE: Tipping Point**  
**SERIES:** And So It Went  
**AUTHOR:** indie  
**CHARACTERS:** Sarah Connor/Derek Reese, John Connor  
**WARNINGS:** Spoilers for anything through 1:7 "The Demon Hand".  
**DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.  
**TIMELINE**: set after "The Demon Hand", sequel to And So It Went and Funny Things, it was written before the season finale. It traverses some of the same ground, but in different ways.  
**SUMMARY: **_After eleven weeks of living and breathing the Connor family dynamics, he knew Sarah and John didn't usually fight._

* * *

The door slammed so hard behind John the entire house seemed to reverberate with the force of it. Sarah stood there, staring at it, her features still set in grim lines. Derek watched as little by little the anger gave way to fear and sorrow. She crumpled slowly, backing up until she hit the wall and then sliding down it to huddle on the floor, her eyes still on the door.

"The metal will watch him," Derek said.

Without turning to face him, Sarah said, "I know." She sat there for maybe a minute and finally looked at him. "I thought you didn't trust that thing."

"I don't," Derek replied, "but it'll watch him."

Sarah leaned her head back against the wall, staring blindly up at the ceiling. "He'll be okay. He can take care of himself. This isn't the first time he's taken off like this."

"Oh yeah?" Derek asked quietly as he watched Sarah. "You two fight like this a lot?" He already knew the answer. After eleven weeks of living and breathing the Connor family dynamics, he knew Sarah and John didn't usually fight. They were all about lies of omission to spare one another uncomfortable truths, but fighting, no.

She shook her head, screwing her eyes shut. "Not often."

Derek stepped closer. He sat down in the middle of the floor, several feet from Sarah, watching.

"It was stupid," Sarah swore, her eyes still shut. "He shouldn't have done that. It was an unnecessary risk."

"John thought it was necessary," Derek said.

Sarah lifted her head, snapping her eyes open. "John's just a boy."

Derek shrugged. "He's not a boy," he countered gently. "By these standards, maybe, but in my time, he's a man. And if you want him to grow into the general who will finally kick the metal back to the stone age, you're gonna have to give him some leeway." He meant it kindly, but he wasn't shocked at all that Sarah didn't appear to appreciate his advice.

Glaring, she pushed herself to her feet and stalked out of the living room and into the kitchen, needing to move. She paced the length of the kitchen and then turned to face him. "What do you know about it?" she demanded. "What do you know about raising a kid? You think sleeping on our couch somehow makes you an authority figure?"

He pushed himself to his feet, meeting her gaze evenly. "I practically raised my little brother, so yeah, I do think I know a thing or two about it. And don't you fucking do that to me."

She stepped closer, arms crossed over her chest, posture defiant. "Do_what_?" she challenged.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a damn house guest."

She gaped at him. "You think you're more?" she demanded. "You think the occasional fuck or suck somehow entitles you to a say in how I raise _my kid_?"

He shook his head, lips pursed tightly together, closing the distance between them. "No," he bit out. "I don't think fucking you gives me a say." He leaned in closer. "I think _being here_ gives me a say. I think teaching John how to track and how to spot HKs gives me a say."

Sarah shook her head, floored by his audacity. "So this must be a lot of fun for you," she countered. "You get to play mentor to your mentor. I get that to you John Connor is some mythic figure, but clue in here, he's my _son_, my _baby_ and it was stupid and reckless of him to risk his life like that tonight."

Derek shook his head with irritation. "Oh get the fuck over yourself. You're not the only person who cares about John. He's a smart kid with a good heart. And you're right, I came here and risked my life in the line of duty at John Connor's order, but I can tell you that I would _die_ to protect that boy. So don't give me this mythic bullshit. I'm well aware of the difference between the two. More than you could ever imagine."

She glared at him, trembling with a surfeit of emotions, rage, fear, grief. He could tell she wanted to throw yet another biting insult at him, but she held her tongue, teeth clenched tightly together. With a growl, she turned and punched the refrigerator, then kicked it. The door spilled open with the recoil of energy, sending condiment bottles crashing to the ground. She kicked it again, and then again when it popped open. She finally put both palms against the door and slammed it closed, shoulders heaving with her breath. She stood there for a long time, finally pressing her forehead against the freezer door.

Derek approached cautiously. She'd punched it with her left hand which meant she hadn't been totally out of control. Several of her knuckles were bloody. Carefully, he touched her hand and she hissed in pain. He took her hand in his own, examining it.

Her forehead still pressed to the refrigerator, Sarah said, "It's not broken."

"You hope," Derek replied.

She turned her head to the side and looked at him. Gently, he pulled her away from the fridge, backing her against the opposite counter. Satisfied she would stay where he put her, he turned back to the fridge and pulled the freezer open. He grabbed two ice trays and then a towel from the counter and made an icepack. He held his hand out and she placed hers in it, allowing him to lay the ice pack on top of it.

They stood like that for a very long time. When Sarah's hand was so numb she could barely feel it, Derek set the icepack down and gently palpated her hand. "It's not broken," he said.

"I already told you that," she replied. Despite the caustic words, her tone was soft, tired.

Derek reached up and brushed the hair back from her forehead. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

"I was out of line earlier," she said.

"Damn right you were," he countered, but like her, his words were said without rancor.

She swallowed thickly, screwing her eyes shut. "He's my baby."

"I know," Derek said softly. "And I know what it's like to feel the responsibility of protecting someone you love. Kyle and I were all each other had in the world."

She looked up at him.

"But John's a good kid. You can guide him only so far. He's going to have to find his own way."

Her lips twisted into a wry grin. "Maybe you're not so bad at this parenting stuff."

He laughed mirthlessly. "I might have neglected to mention that Kyle hated me for years."

Sarah raised her eyebrows.

"Oh yeah," Derek continued, "he was convinced I was holding him back, ruining his life. God, he was a pain in the ass. I can't tell you how many times he risked his life doing something just to spite me."

"That's hard to imagine," Sarah said in wonder.

Derek looked back at her and his throat was suddenly tight. He had a tendency to forget. To forget Sarah and John knew Kyle as well. He shrugged.

He was suddenly all too aware of the silence, of Sarah's hand still cradled in his own. Sexual tension he could handle, but this wasn't about sex. It was about a connection that he and Sarah had been fighting for weeks.

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in closer to her. She watched him carefully, but for the first time, didn't pull away. Cautiously, he pressed his lips to hers. She didn't kiss him back, but she didn't fight him either. He tried again, more insistent, nipping at her lips.

And then, something changed and she was kissing him back. The fingers of her uninjured hand threaded through his hair and her right leg twined around his left and he could taste the salt from her tears.

This time it wasn't against the garage wall or the shower wall or the kitchen floor or the backseat of a car. It was a bed. And this time, it wasn't just sex.

But the bed was hers and once they both caught their breaths, he wondered if she would kick him out. She didn't. And thank god, she was even less eager to talk about it than he was. They laid there in the dark touching, but not cuddling, thinking but not speaking.

* * *

When Derek woke, Sarah was gone and dawn was just turning the sky gray. He heard the bathroom door slam and knew John was home. Pushing himself out of bed, he pulled on the jeans he discarded last night. Sarah's bedroom door was open and John no doubt saw him sleeping in her bed when he walked by. Derek figured John had known for weeks what was going on, but the time was quickly coming that they were going to have to acknowledge it in some way.

Fuck. He really didn't want to do that. He had no idea what last night meant to himself, much less Sarah. Or more importantly, if their truce would hold.

Dragging his hand through his hair, Derek walked into the kitchen. John's backpack had been tossed on the counter, its contents spilling out. One of the items caught Derek's eye and he extricated the picture from the rest of the miscellany. It was encased in a plastic sleeve to prevent scratches, but the picture had seen better days. Derek knew the scene well. Sarah Connor in a Jeep, German shepherd in the background. The image was iconic, one of the most recognizable propaganda items of the war. Men carried Sarah Connor's picture with them into battle like a talisman. Often, it was this picture, though there were others, ones with Sarah older, probably close to the age she was now. There were also drawings, artistic renderings of her unmistakable features.

But this …

This was the original.

Derek studied it closer. Frowning, he slipped it out of the plastic covering and turned it over in his hand. It couldn't be … But it was. This was _Kyle_'s picture of Sarah. Derek recognized the same frayed corner, the same scribbles along the bottom. Why the hell would Kyle have the_original_ picture of Sarah.

Why the hell would John Connor have given Kyle the original picture of …

The realization hit Derek so hard, his head actually snapped up. Just in time to watch John walk into the room, hair wet from his shower. For once, his damn hair wasn't all in his eyes and covering half his face. It was wet, slicked back and Jesus fucking Christ, the kid looked _exactly _like Kyle. John had his mother's eyes, but the rest of him was pure Reese. Fuck. How did Derek miss that for three months?

"Hey, man," John said, nodding to Derek before turning to the fridge and rooting around for the orange juice.

"Hey," Derek replied, still staring at John. Kyle's son. Derek's nephew. Holy shit he had a _nephew_. Who, in this timeline, was older than Derek's contemporary self. What a mindfuck. He shook his head sharply in a vain attempt to clear it.

John turned back toward Derek, juice carton in hand. He glanced around to make sure Sarah wasn't nearby and he opened the juice, drinking directly from the carton. Three big gulps and he closed the carton, tossing it back in the fridge. He half turned toward Derek. "Hey, uh, did you do something to the fridge?"

Derek shook his head. "Me? No. Your mom might have had a little trouble with the door last night."

John looked pointedly at the smear of blood on the freezer door. "_Yeah_."

"Where's the metal?" Derek asked, changing the subject.

"She's in the," John faltered, looking at Derek holding the picture. "She's in the back. Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, taking the picture away from Derek. Protectively, he slipped it back in the plastic sleeve and scooped it and the rest of the items back into his backpack.

"Sorry," Derek said. "It was just laying on the counter."

John looked at Derek, then to the backpack and then back to Derek. "No. It's fine. It's just … That picture is kind of important."

Derek nodded. "I know."

John's brow furrowed as he looked at Derek.

"It's a really famous picture," Derek explained. "In the future. During the war. Sarah's sort of the patron saint of fucked up soldiers."

John smiled mirthlessly. "Figures." He laughed. "Guess I better keep an eye on it then."

Derek watched him for a moment. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Especially that one, the original. You need to give it to your father."

John's head snapped to Derek and they stared at each other in silence for a long time. "You, uh … "John trailed off. "What do you mean?"

"Kyle."

John looked away, out the window, then back to Derek. "You don't … I mean, I don't …" He sighed, running his fingers absently through his damp hair. "How'd you know?"

A grin spread across Derek's features. "You look just like him."

John half smiled, then looked away self-consciously. Finally, he looked back to Derek. "I didn't know him," John admitted, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. "He died before I was born. I don't even have a picture."

"Jesus," Derek swore. "This stuff screws with your head."

"Tell me about it," John agreed dryly.

"If it's any consolation, I find it a hell of a lot less creepy now," Derek offered.

"Creepy?"

Derek smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I thought it was seriously fucked up that John Connor gave my kid brother a picture of John's mom. Makes a lot more sense now."

John reached into the unzipped backpack and pulled out the picture again, looking at it. Then he looked up at Derek. "Did he love her?" he asked quietly.

For a long moment, Derek held John's gaze. "Yeah," he said. "I think he did. He never said it in so many words, but I used to give him hell about it all the time. Girls used to …" Derek trailed off, taking another approach. "Girls liked Kyle, but he never really found anyone. He was always pre-occupied. He carried that picture around for years."

John nodded, staring at the picture. Without looking up, he asked, "Do you love her?"

Derek snorted uncomfortably, but then John looked up, meeting his gaze and letting him know he wasn't kidding. Derek swallowed. "I don't know," he admitted. "Last night was … " He was silent for a few beats. "Knowing you're Kyle's son changes things."

"Why?"

Derek shook his head. "Look, John, I don't even want to have this conversation with your mom, I'm sure as hell not having it with you."

John looked irritated, but he didn't push it. Placing the picture once again in the backpack, he zipped it shut and slung it over his shoulder. "Can you give me a ride to school?" he asked. "Absent gets me on the radar."

"Sure."

* * *

End Section 


	4. What We Lost in the Fire

TITLE: What We Lost in the Fire

SERIES: And So It Goes

AUTHOR: indie

* * *

Sarah hissed in pleasure as the heat of his body melted into her bones. Skin to skin, his full naked length was against hers, the coarse hair on his body rasping against her frayed nerve endings. God, the way he smelled. She was haunted by that smell. Groaning, she reached out for him, drawing him closer. She bit down on his bottom lip as he rolled on top of her. She was lost in the taste of him. It had been too fucking long. Why had it been so long?

She relished the weight of him, the way he pressed her into the mattress, sparing her nothing. She could take it, he knew she could take it. But the gentleness of his hands was a delicious counterpoint, carefully caressing her cheek, her neck, hitching her leg to his waist, opening her to him.

It was dark, too dark to see and her mind was still fuzzy and slow from sleep. But she knew some things with absolute certainty. She knew she wanted him. She knew she missed him.

He rocked his hips against hers, kissing her harder. She gasped from the pleasure of it, shuddering as his sex nudged against her. She turned her head to the side and he kissed away her tear.

"_Kyle_,_"_ she breathed, threading her fingers through his hair.

It took her a moment to realize how still he'd gone, to note that while he didn't push her away, he was no longer returning her kisses.

And in a moment, she was wide awake.

"Fuck," she yelped, planting the palm of her hand in the middle of his chest and pushing him away as hard as she could.

He rolled away easily, not fighting her.

She lay there on her back, eyes screwed tightly shut, hating the way her body ached with unfulfilled desire. She felt the bed shift and knew he had moved to sit on the side of the bed, facing away from her. She heard the flick of his Zippo and smelled butane and cigarette smoke.

Ordinarily, she would have busted his head for smoking in the house. But this wasn't an ordinary situation.

He exhaled loudly and chuckled mirthlessly. "I've done some seriously freaky shit," he said, his voice low and rough. "But I draw the line at pretending to be my dead brother."

"I wasn't pretending," she snapped waspishly. "I was asleep, you asshole. What were you doing sneaking in my room?"

"Apparently interrupting your wet dream about Kyle."

"Fuck you."

She pushed herself out of bed, turning her back to him as she reached for a shirt and pulled it on, cringing when she realized it was his. It smelled like him. Dammit, that was part of the problem. Why did the brothers Reese have to have the same goddamn BO? The universe was trying to punish her.

* * *

She was standing at the kitchen sink, glass of water in hand, staring out at the swingset in the yard. She sent Cameron away with a few nasty words and waited. Derek didn't disappoint. Less than two minutes later, he was leaning his hip against the island, arms crossed over his bare chest. Sarah was glad to see he threw on some sweatpants.

"How long have you known?" she asked.

"A while."

"How. Long."

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his stubble roughened face. "A couple of weeks. Since the morning after you beat the shit out of the fridge."

She turned, leaning back against the sink as she faced him. "How?"

He looked at her, holding her gaze in the dim light. "When John doesn't have all that fucking hair in his face, he looks just like Kyle."

Sarah looked away and then back to Derek. "Sometimes I don't see the resemblance," she said quietly.

"You didn't grow up with him," Derek replied flatly. "You didn't watch him every day of his life."

Sarah shook her head. No, she certainly didn't. There were days she could barely remember Kyle's face.

"Why did you save me?" Derek asked.

"What?" Sarah asked, truly taken off guard.

"When the triple eight shot me, why didn't you let me die?"

Sarah shook her head, at a loss for words. "We needed you," she finally said. "Even Cameron said you were one of John's best soldiers. It was tactically – "

"It was tactically a disaster," Derek said, cutting across her. He stepped closer. "Why'd you do it?"

She didn't say anything.

"In that cell, if I hadn't told you I was one of the Reese boys would you have still saved me?"

She looked up at him, holding his gaze for a long time. "No. We saved you because you're Kyle's brother."

* * *

The door slammed behind Derek and John looked up from where he was rinsing the last of the Chinese take-out off his plate. Derek had been in a foul mood all day. First he shrugged off the morning ride to school for drop off. Ditto with pick up. And he skipped dinner despite the fact that John knew he loved Chinese food – well, any food really, but especially Chinese. And though John hadn't actually checked the weapons cache yet, the smell of oil was so strong he suspected Derek had cleaned and reloaded every gun in the house. Twice.

He shot Sarah a questioning glance as she sat at the table. "What's wrong with Derek?"

Sarah shrugged, looking away. "Pretty sure I'm not qualified to speculate on all the things wrong with Derek."

John turned off the water and then crossed the room, leaning against the door jamb between the kitchen and the dining room, watching Sarah. "That's not what I mean," he said carefully. "Something happened between the two of you."

Sarah waved him off with her hand, pretending to concentrate on a stack of paperwork, apparently unconcerned. John frowned. He was pretty sure it wasn't normal to acknowledge that your mother was the best liar you'd ever known. But Sarah was. She could lie straight to your face without blinking – _had_ in fact, to John, many, many times. He knew she didn't feel guilty about it – probably because she thought she was protecting him.

"I don't mean the sex," John pressed, trying to ignore the way his cheeks flamed with a blush. "I already knew about that."

Her head snapped toward him, but she didn't say anything.

"I've known for weeks," John continued, secretly glad his steady voice didn't belie the fact that his innards were squirming. He didn't want to _think_ about, much less _talk_ about his mother's sex life. "Something new happened."

Sarah looked at her son and smiled mirthlessly. She turned to Cameron. "Go fill the Jeep up with gas."

"The Jeep has half a tank of – "

"Now."

Cameron cocked her head to the side for a moment and studied Sarah, but then nodded and rose from the table.

John waited until he heard the engine turn over to continue. "Well?"

"He asked if we would have saved him if he hadn't been Kyle's brother," she admitted. "And I told him no."

"_Jesus_, Mom," John swore, rolling his eyes.

"It's the truth," Sarah said firmly, staring at her son.

John shook his head, crossing the room to sink into one of the chairs. "It's the truth," he agreed. "But it's not like that's _all_ he is."

"I told him," Sarah said, now sounding like she was trying to convince someone. John wasn't sure if it was him or herself. "I told him we knew he was one of your best soldiers."

"You really know how to stroke a guy's ego," John said dryly.

Sarah glared at her son. "What do you want me to tell him? That he's family? That we can't live without him?"

"Is that what you think?"

Sarah shook her head, standing up from the table. "I'm not talking about this with you. It's none of your business."

"The hell it's not," John countered in frustration. "_I_ sent him here. He's _my_ uncle."

"Yes," Sarah snapped, rounding on her son. "Your uncle. The one you didn't trust enough to tell the truth to." She crossed her arms over her chest. "We still don't know if we can trust him, John."

"You trusted him enough to sleep with him."

Sarah's spine straightened like she'd been slapped. Slowly, she turned to leave the room.

John bolted out of his chair, following Sarah. "Maybe it wasn't that I didn't trust him," he said. "Maybe it isn't about trust. Maybe I didn't tell him for the same reasons I didn't tell Kyle. Maybe people just aren't meant to know that much about their futures."

Sarah stopped and turned around to look at her son.

John opened his mouth and then at a loss for words, closed it again. "He's … _We're_ family," he said quietly. "I just …"

Sarah took a deep breath, watching her son. "I'll talk to him," she said. At John's smile, she amended. "I'm not promising anything. But I'll talk to him."

"Thanks," he said softly.

* * *

Derek was sitting at the bar, watching a pack of sorority girls who had pushed two tables together in the middle of the room. One of them got up and walked to the bar to buy another round. She teetered on a pair of stiletto heels that probably cost more than the Jeep – you know, if someone had actually bothered to pay for the Jeep.

He took a long drink from his bottle, studying the impressive curve of the girl's calf, her delicate ankle. "Bet you never owned any shoes like that," he said. "Couldn't run for shit in those babies."

Sarah frowned, irritated at Derek's total lack of reaction to the fact that she took a seat at the barstool next to him – while he wasn't looking.

Leaning back, she looked at the girl's shoes. "Work study sure as hell wouldn't have paid for a pair of Christian Louboutin heels," she said. "But I had some knockoffs that were close."

"Christian Labou-whatthefuck? You know about shoes?"

"I am a woman, you know," she countered, non-plussed.

He snorted. "Yeah, tell me about it. I just didn't know you were a girl too."

The bartender deposited a bottle of Dos Equis in front of Sarah and she took a long drink. Setting the bottle back on the bar, she said, "They're completely impractical now, but I owned shoes like that once upon a time."

Derek cocked an eyebrow and then snorted, taking another drink. "I bet," he said dryly.

"What does that mean?" she asked pointedly, holding the beer halfway to her mouth.

"It means good little whitebread girls don't learn the kind of lessons you've taught John. You had to learn 'em somewhere. I'm betting you fucked half the guerillas in Central America to get the weapons and warfare training you wanted. The shoes probably came in handy when you needed to dupe someone into giving you what you wanted."

"Fuck you, Reese," she spat. "You don't know a goddamn thing about me." She slammed the beer back on the bar and slid off the stool, heading for the door. She promised John she'd talk to Derek, but she wasn't about to put up with this level of bullshit.

"I know a lot about you," Derek said, having followed Sarah out of the bar and into the alley.

"Oh really?" Sarah snapped, turning around to face him, hands on her hips. "And what the fuck do you _think_ you know about me?"

Derek snorted, looking away for a moment and Sarah realized he was pretty drunk.

"Everyone knows about you." He leaned in close. "You're a fucking _celebrity_."

He smiled and Sarah crossed her arms over her chest, cocking out one hip as she waited for him to dig himself a hole.

"Sarah Connor who taught her son to fight, to prepare," he said. "Sarah Connor who knew what the future held. Sarah Connor _who saved us all_."

She glared at him, so angry she could barely breathe. How dare he. She stepped closer. "You think you're the only person who lost something,Reese?" she demanded.

He gave her a surly, defiant look. "And what did you lose, Sarah?" he mocked.

She shoved him, slamming him into the building's brick wall. He didn't fight back, he just stared at her with this expression that was half angry, half amused.

She grabbed the collar of his jacket and gave it a good yank, growling at him. "I lost _everything_, you jackass," she hissed. "You know what that first machine took from me? My life. It killed my mother. It killed Ginger and Matt" As the list went on, she got louder and louder until she was yelling at him, shaking. "I lost _Kyle_. Seventeen fucking cops … I lost _myself_!"

He didn't look angry or amused anymore. He looked a little freaked out. Gently, he reached up and touched her arm. "Sarah?"

The second he touched her, she let him go, taking several quick steps backward. "You're right," she said, her voice hoarse. "Good little whitebread girls don't know how to do the shit I do. You know how I did it? I walked away from everything, from _everyone_ I knew. I ran. And then, yeah, I ended up in Central America and I did use whatever I had at my disposal – including my body – to get John the education he needed. I'm not sorry. And I'm not going to apologize to anyone – _especially_ you. I did what I had to do."

He took a step toward her and she reflexively backed away. She paced in a tight circle, rubbing her arms with her hands. "You should have seen me," she said quietly. "I was such a fucking joke. There I was, seven months pregnant, alone, trying to learn Spanish in the middle of nowhere. It took me a week to figure out how to disassemble and reassemble an AK-47."

Derek shook his head, looking at her. "Where was Kyle?"

Sarah stopped pacing and turned to look at him. She snorted and then released a burst of hysterical, not-funny laughter. "_Dead_," she said, wide eyed and slightly manic. "Kyle was dead." She stepped closer. "Your brother and I had _two days_ together. Two days when he explained to me that the fate of the human race depended on me being able to teach _my_ son to fight the machines."

Derek had no response, he just stood there staring at Sarah.

She stepped closer. "He didn't even know John was his son. _I_ didn't even know until a month after he was buried."

"I thought …" Derek said, trailing off. "John said he never knew Kyle, but I didn't really believe …"

"Believe what?" Sarah demanded. "Did you think John lied? That Kyle and I were married? That when he found me I was already the centerfold for Soldier of Fortune Magazine?"

Derek didn't reply, but his expression told Sarah she was pretty close to the mark.

"Those girls," she said pointing to the bar. "Those girls in there with the silly, impractical shoes – _that_ is who I was. Kyle came at me in a nightclub with a shotgun. I thought he was trying to kill me. But he stopped the machine and then he grabbed me and ran. And in one night, he laid out my entire, horrific future, all the while that terminator was hunting us down. And then he knocked me up and died protecting me. So _everything_ that has happened, all the fuck-ups, all the little victories. Those are all _mine_. Because I had to figure out every bit of it on my own while doctors and social workers threw me in a mental institution and told my son I was a violent, paranoid schizophrenic."

Sarah could feel the wetness on her cheeks, but she wasn't conscious of the fact that she was crying. She turned, marching down the alley. Fuck John. Fuck him for making her talk to Derek. She'd never admitted any of this to anyone and if she was going to confide in someone, she sure as hell didn't want it to be Derek Reese.

She could hear him following her and somewhere noted that he must intentionally be making noise because he usually moved like a goddamn cat. She didn't care. She was finished with him. She reached the Jeep and jumped inside. As she slammed the door, Derek was standing right outside her driver's side window.

She didn't bother looking at him as she sped away.

* * *

Sometime during the night, she heard Derek ease open her bedroom door. Then he heard her disengage the safety on her gun and he wisely left her alone.

The next morning at breakfast, Derek was present. He looked hungover and significantly worse for the wear, but he was there. He talked to John, but gave Sarah a wide berth. The ride home from school was completely silent.

It was mid-morning. Sarah was in the front yard, sitting in the swing, rocking back and forth slowly, arms aching from her morning workout. Derek leaned against one of the swingset supports, watching.

"Two days together and you still dream about him?"

Sarah stared at the ground for several long moments. "No," she said quietly. "I don't. I stopped dreaming about Kyle a long time ago."

Derek shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "So what changed?"

"You," she said flatly. She looked up at him and then looked away, once again concentrating on the grass. "That's why I didn't kiss you. You taste like him. And you smell like him. And I can't be with you without thinking of him." She took a deep breath. "And I hate that."

"You don't want to remember Kyle?" he asked, his voice coarse and strained with a caustic mixture of emotions he could barely contain.

She shook her head. "No. That's not it," she said, glancing up at him, her eyes welling with tears that would never be allowed to fall. "Remembering Kyle feels like a gift. I loved him."

"You knew him for two days," he snapped.

"I know," she said, pushing herself out of the swing, turning to look at him. "But I loved him. And I hate that I know you a thousand times better that I will ever know Kyle."

end section


	5. Tactical Advantage

**TITLE: Tactical Advantage**

**SERIES: And So It Went**

**by indie**

_Fallout from "What We Lost in the Fire"_

* * *

"I'm going out. I'll be late."

John nodded as Sarah pulled the front door shut behind her. He glanced out the kitchen windows and watched until the Jeep's headlights disappeared. Turning, he looked at Derek sitting on the living room floor, barefoot, loading ammo clips.

Frowning, John opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. He twisted off the bottlecap and walked into the living room.

Derek looked up at him, raising an eyebrow at the beer in John's hand. "Rough day at school, Beav?"

John held the beer out. "It's for you. We don't have any limes." Not that Derek would give a crap about limes, but still, he felt the need to clarify.

Derek gave John a wary look, but snatched the beer and drank half of it in a long series of gulps. John crossed the room and sat down in the rickety recliner, facing Derek. Derek watched him with one of his attentive, but unreadable expressions.

"What's up?" Derek finally asked carefully.

John dragged a hand restlessly through his hair, shifting uncomfortably in the recliner. "I, uh …" He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look at Derek. "I asked her to talk to you last night."

Derek sighed, rolling his eyes. "You gotta learn to stay outta other people's business, John."

"It's not other people's business," John said, his unease giving way to anger. "It's my family."

"We may be your blood," Derek said, "but we're not your pawns. Not yet. You don't get to move us around like chess pieces so you can build your perfect family."

"That's not what I'm trying to do," John snapped. As if anyone could ever qualify Derek and Sarah together as a perfect family. Or at least that's what John told himself.

"Then what are you trying to do?" Derek asked impatiently, pushing himself to his feet. As soon as he stood, he began to sway and he reached out, bracing one arm against the wall to steady himself. He looked down at the beer still in his hand and then at John.

John was looking right at him, glaring. And for the first time, Derek really saw the John Connor he knew, the future John, in the boy's features. Slowly, John stood and crossed the room toward Derek. He stopped before he was in arm's reach. Smart move, considering what John had done. Licking his lips, Derek wondered what the hell it was John put in his beer.

"You're family, Derek," John said evenly. "And that means a hell of a lot to me." He took a deep breath. "But when she came home last night, she was crying. She doesn't cry. _Ever._"

John's features were hard and Derek knew that expression well. That was the look that finally beat Skynet, the look that turned the tide on the fate of the entire human race. And oddly enough, it was also a look he'd seen several times from Kyle, most notably, the time Derek tried to toss that damn snap of Sarah into the fire. Kyle nearly broke his jaw. Derek still remembered his little brother standing over him, hands still balled into fists as he glared down at him with that same expression.

"If you make her cry again, Derek," John said quietly, "I swear to God – family or not - I will _end_ you."

Derek blinked at his nephew. Derek certainly wasn't a coward and he had at least thirty pounds and a good inch or two on John – not to mention a couple decades of pent up rage directed at his former CO. Physically, John wasn't a match for Derek. But there was something in John's eyes, in the way he held himself, that made Derek believe the boy could make good on his threat.

"Do you understand me?" John asked.

Derek licked his lips again. His tongue felt really weird. "Your mom's a bitch."

John half smiled. "Yeah, I know. But do you understand me?"

Derek nodded, concentrating on his words. "I understand, but you need to understand something too."

"What?"

"Whatever happens, good or bad, between me and Sarah is between _us_. You stay out of it."

John seemed to consider this for a moment and then nodded. "Okay."

"I'm not kidding, John," Derek said darkly, trying not to slur. "Stay out."

John nodded again, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. He motioned toward the bottle. "Sorry about the beer. I needed a tactical advantage."

"You got it," Derek said mirthlessly. "What the hell is in this?"

John pursed his lips together. "You don't want to know. Cameron knows a lot about chemistry. And online pharmacies."

"If you roofied me, Connor, I swear to god, I'll get even."

"Not if you don't remember it," John said with an evil smile.

Derek swiped at John who easily evaded the clumsy move. Grumbling under his breath, Derek staggered a few feet to the couch and collapsed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Derek," John said cautiously. "Are you okay? I didn't meant to – "

Derek impatiently waved him off and John retreated, probably to his room to play on the computer with his pet metal. Derek stared dumbly at the ceiling, enjoying the pleasantly numb feeling.

* * *

A loud knock on the door interrupted Derek's thoughts. Okay, well, not so much interrupted since they weren't particularly ordered to begin with. His head lolled to the side and he could make a shape out on the other side of the door. Where the fuck was his gun? He scratched his head.

Ow! Fuck. The gun was in his hand.

The thing on the other side knocked again. Where the hell was the metal? It should at least be doing something useful like answering the door. Derek fucking hated the metal. He hated that it looked like a girl. And it should totally have bigger tits. That was some fucking irony. Women in this time were real with fake tits. The metal was a fake girl with real looking tits.

The door opened and Charley Dixon poked his head inside. "Anybody here?"

That was really fucking stupid. In this house, something like that could easily get you shot.

Charley stepped into the room and looked down at Derek. "I'm not sure you're in any shape to shoot anyone."

Oh shit. He must have said that last bit out loud.

"And that too," Charley said. He crouched down and looked at Derek. "What the hell are you on? Your pupils are the size of saucers."

"Nunna yer goddamn bizniz," Derek slurred. Besides, he didn't know what was in the beer anyway.

"Someone dosed you?" Charley asked, brow furrowed. He reached down and grabbed the empty beer bottle, sniffing it and making a face.

In retrospect, finishing the bottle after he knew it was laced with one of Cameron's science experiments didn't seem like the greatest idea. But Jesus it had been a long time since Derek had been this relaxed. Drugs were in short supply after the apocalypse. And no matter how much he wished for a little oblivion, Derek could never bring himself to huff anything. But this shit he was on now … Whatever the hell it was, it was_ nice_. Mellow. No paranoia or twitching or crawling skin. Just floating along … on the couch. And no needles. Fuck, he hated needles.

"Needles?" Charley asked warily. "I'm not going to give you a shot." He cocked an eyebrow at Derek. "From the amount of ink you have, I find it hard to believe you hate needles."

Fuck. Inside voice. Inside voice.

Charley didn't reply, so Derek was relatively certain that last bit wasn't out loud. He stared up at the annoyingly present paramedic with what he hoped was an impatient expression.

Charley just looked down at him and shook his head. "Sarah left me for you?" He snorted, turning and heading toward the bedrooms. Derek wasn't sure how long Charley was gone, but he returned looking irritated. Derek supposed that meant John, Sarah and the metal were all gone.

While Charley was snooping around, Derek had slowly pushed himself into a sitting position on the couch. He realized that once he was sitting up, his buzz was starting to wane. _Shit_. That did nothing to improve his mood.

Watching Charley walk back into the living room, Derek took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on his words. "You should probably consider spending a little less time stalking Sarah. Your wife will eventually get a clue."

Charley looked him up and down. "If you weren't here … it might have been different between me and Sarah." Somehow Charley managed to say it without sounding petulant. In fact he sounded calm. And earnest. And if Derek was being honest with himself – which was rarer and rarer these days - he had to admit Charley sounded a hell of a lot like Kyle used to sound. Which just pissed Derek off more.

"You don't deserve her," Charley added, once again making it sound like an assessment rather than a challenge.

"You do," Derek countered, irritated. "You totally deserve the plague that is Sarah Connor."

Charley looked like he might actually take a swing at Derek. But he didn't. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at Derek. "Do you really believe that?" he asked. "You believe I deserve Sarah?"

Derek pushed himself off the couch and stood facing Charley. He watched him for several long moments. "No," he said flatly, "I don't think you deserve her." He turned away, heading for the kitchen and another beer. It wouldn't resurrect his buzz, but it might help his strangely wounded pride.

"What about you?" Charley goaded, following. "Do you think you deserve her?"

Ignoring him, Derek pulled another beer out of the fridge and opened it. He drank half of it before turning to face Charley. "Go home to your wife, Dixon. Leave us the fuck alone. You're a liability."

"You didn't answer me," Charley said.

Derek turned away, taking another drink of the beer. He walked out of the kitchen, turning the light off behind himself, leaving Charley in the dark as he made his way to the bathroom for a shower.


	6. Don't Confuse Close With Happy

**TITLE: Don't Confuse Close With Happy**

SERIES:And So It Went

WARNINGS: Spoilers through 2.05.

TIMELINE: This series is a bit AU, but takes a lot of the canon events.

NOTES: This series has its own canon, but I'm also trying to make it mesh with the main SCC universe, so there are differences, but the overall timeline is the same.

SUMMARY: Episode tag for "Goodbye To All That"

* * *

"What happened out there?"

Derek glances over his shoulder as Sarah pushes through the screen door, but doesn't actually look at her before turning back to the view. He likes the new house. It's much more secluded than the old place, more defensible. Even if there isn't a spare bedroom for him. At least they have a front porch.

He shrugs. "You know the drill. We took down the triple eight, gave Bedell enough information to keep him on target."

"But not too much information," Sarah prompts, her tone tight.

Derek knows she's pissed. He's pretty damn pissed himself and he's more than happy to oblige her need for conflict. The two of them are becoming strangers, fellow soldiers with nothing in common but the mission. They occasionally compare notes on how low the supplies are running or check up on leads. There's always friction where their paths cross, a scathing comment here, a snide remark there. He's nothing but an expendable grunt. She's an overbearing mother emasculating her son.

At the old house, they had to get along. Between Sarah's paranoia about letting John out of her sight and Derek's injury, they were all constantly on top of one another, forced into close quarters and forced to find a way to coexist. But since John's birthday, they've been scattered to the winds.

Derek doesn't know exactly what happened that day, but he knows it was big. John shaved his head and traded in the metal for a real, live girl. Sarah made a sandwich for the paramedic, but then watched his wife die without so much as an apology. The metal's on the fritz. Derek's sleeping in the truck. They all have their own agendas. It's become harder for all of them to be civil to one another, regardless of how much they might need each other.

And no one's getting laid. Except maybe John. And the fact that his teenage nephew might be getting more play than him has Derek in a foul mood.

"We told Bedell just enough," Derek finally says. "No more."

Sarah's anger seems to fizzle with no obvious outlet and she sinks down into one of the benches on the porch, staring at her feet. The silence between them isn't comfortable. But it's normal. They've learned to live like this the last few weeks. Tension is always heavy in the air. Things are always left unsaid, unresolved. Derek isn't sure he remembers how to live any other way. He thought things were rough at the old house, but now … It's been an unrelenting clusterfuck for weeks. The stuff with the triple eight and Bedell seems routine.

As for Sarah and Derek, their routine has been running from one disaster to the next, arguing when they have the time and not a whole hell of a lot else. Derek hasn't even seen the inside of the new house's master bedroom. But given how much it looks like Sarah isn't sleeping, it's entirely possible she hasn't either.

He's taken to sleeping elsewhere. He's not crazy about the fact. As much as he's glad to be away from the metal, he doesn't like leaving John and Sarah unguarded. Most nights he dozes in the truck in the park up the street. He's close enough. Just in case.

"You heard from Dixon lately?" Derek asks.

"Why would I?" Sarah snaps in reply.

"No reason."

She snorts, but he just sits there and waits. It doesn't take much to provoke Sarah Connor into a confrontation.

Just in case Sarah was thinking of taking the high road, Derek needles, "We could barely get rid of him when his wife was still alive, I find it hard to believe he's staying away now that he's single."

"You fucking asshole."

Nope. No high road here. He turns around and smiles nastily at her, unwilling to examine why it is he wants to get her attention so badly – even if it is though a fight. It's not the first time he's felt the compulsion to make her notice him. The first was before they even met, when he brushed his shoulder against hers in the hall as he made a retreat from the scene of Andy Goode's murder. The second was in that interrogation room when he told her she was prettier than her picture. Derek's too damn good of a soldier to make slips like that. It was intentional. He doesn't know why, but sometimes he _needs_ her to acknowledge him. Or else it's like he doesn't exist.

Sarah glares at him, that condescending scowl on her face. "Charley's wife is dead."

"I know," Derek replies smoothly. "I watched her die."

"So did I."

"So did Charley."

Sarah turns away, looking at nothing, shaking her head.

"Do you think it's enough?" Derek taunts.

Sarah's head snaps back to him, her brow furrowed.

"Do you think he finally gets it?" Derek continues. "Dixon. Do you think he finally understands that this isn't something he can save you from? Do you think his wife's death finally convinced him it's true?"

She looks at him for a moment, at a loss for words. And then as quickly as it appeared, the indecision is gone. "How the hell should I know?" she snaps, turning on her heel and going back in the house.

Derek follows her, catching the screen door before she can slam it in his face. "Where's John?"

"Out."

"Out with the girl?" He's not actually sure how far he wants to provoke her, but that doesn't stop him. The words are out of his mouth before he has time to think better of it. He trails her into the kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and leaning his hip against the counter as he watches Sarah wash her hands in the sink.

Sarah glances over her shoulder at him and smiles tightly. "Out with the girl," she confirms bitterly.

Derek shakes his head.

"Fucking spare me the parental advice," Sarah says, forestalling whatever it was he might have said. "I don't want it and I don't need it." She turns off the water and quickly dries her hands.

Derek watches her for a heartbeat, then another. He tips the bottle and takes a swallow. "Coulda fooled me."

She throws the towel on the counter and takes a step toward him, hands on her hips. "What the fuck do you want me to do, Reese?" she snaps. "Ground him? He's sixteen. And the future leader of the human resistance."

"Yeah and we're all fucked if he doesn't make it to seventeen or if he's so busy trying to get in that girl's pants that he forgets about the mission."

She glares at him for a long time. "John won't forget the mission," she says with finality before turning and leaving.

"How can you be so sure?"

She stops in the doorway, shaking her head. She turns to look at him. "Because the mission is all we've ever had. I never forget. John never forgets."

He swirls the beer in his bottle, contemplating it. "Does saying it out loud make it more believable?" He doesn't look at her, but he knows she's still standing in the doorway. "If you lie to yourself often enough, can you sleep at night?"

"You jackass – " She's already moving when she curses at him and he barely has time to set the bottle down before she lands her first punch, sending him stumbling backward against the refrigerator. He twists as a second punch glances off his shoulder. Managing to catch one of her wrists in his right hand, he uses his left to protect his face. He never took Sarah for a cat fight kind of girl, but that bitch is going to gouge out one of his eyes if she gets the chance.

Sarah quickly switches tactics, brutally kicking him in the knee, sending him crashing to the floor. But his grip is tight and he pulls her with him as he falls. They grapple on the scarred linoleum floor, twisting and hitting, fighting for dominance. Sarah kicks him again, this time in the ribs. Realizing that she is well and truly pissed – and out for blood - he takes the cheap shot, viciously grabbing her upper left arm and mercilessly digging his fingers into the still healing muscle.

She sucks in air as the pain paralyzes her for a moment. Derek takes the advantage, catching each of her wrists in one of his hands, the full weight of his upper body pinning her to the floor as he straddles her upper thighs, immobilizing her lower body. She bares her teeth at him, but there isn't a damn thing she can do to get leverage in this position.

Derek knows this victory is fleeting at best. He'll have to let her go and when he does, he knows he better run like hell.

He leans down, his face inches from hers. "Coward."

She slams her head forward, trying to headbutt him, but he pulls away. "Coward," he repeats from a safer distance.

"Fuck you," she seethes. "Hell of a statement coming from the guy sleeping in the truck up the street."

That burns a little and he looks down at her. "You made it pretty clear I wasn't welcome here."

"The fuck I did," she says derisively. "You've never worried about making anyone uncomfortable. You're sleeping in the truck because you're the one who's lying to himself."

"All that bullshit about John forgetting the mission," she growls. "It's not about John. John won't forget the mission. It's about you." She glares at him, teeth still bared, breathing so hard she's panting through her teeth.

Derek stares down at her and then all at once, pushes off and lets her go, backing quickly out of range.

She skitters to her feet and grabs a knife out of the block, holding it out towards him. "Do that again and I'll kill you."

He looks at her. And then at the knife. His gaze once again meets hers and he takes a deliberate step toward her. And then another. And another.

The point of the knife presses against his chest, but neither of them are willing to break eye contact. Derek moves closer, feels the burn and knows the blade broke the skin. He can feel his blood seeping into the material of his t-shirt.

Sarah finally looks at the tiny rivulet of blood running down the knife blade toward the hilt. The blood is shockingly crimson against the shiny steel of the blade and Sarah is immediately reminded of her hands covered in his blood, pressing the kitchen towel tightly to his chest as she willed – and screamed – so desperately for him to live.

With a sharp shake of her head, she pulls her wrist back and sets the knife on the counter. Her motions are slow, controlled. She looks defiantly up at Derek as he looms over her. "_You_'re the coward," she says again, her voice quiet, but not soft.

"You're my brother's widow."

She winces, breaks eye contact. She looks at the floor and then at his chest. "You're bleeding on my kitchen floor."

"Not the first time, probably won't be the last."

Sarah stares at the blood on his shirt. The wound wasn't deep and it's probably already stopped bleeding.

Derek doesn't move his feet, but he leans in closer, braces his hand against the counter behind her, his wrist grazing her hip. "What do you see when you look at me?"

She looks up at him, but says nothing.

"Do you see Kyle?"

Reflexively, she shakes her head, shunning the very idea. "No," she says. She swallows thickly. "No."

He leans in, his face close to hers. She can feel his breath against her temple. She stares straight ahead, at the patch of skin just above the collar of his shirt. There's a scratch there, probably from a branch or brush. She wonders what exactly happened with all those boys playing soldier.

He takes a breath, licks his lips. "What do you see when you look at me?"

She looks up, staring into his eyes. His irises are light, like Kyle's, but they are so different - intense in a way so unlike Kyle's. Derek is worldlier than Kyle was, more damaged, less idealistic. She finds that comforting. Sarah doesn't have a lot of use for idealists.

"Future," she says so quietly she can barely hear it herself.

He holds her gaze. "_The_ future," he says. "Or _your _future?"

She doesn't break eye contact, but she shakes her head. "I don't know."

He sighs, hangs his head and then pushes off the counter, retreating several steps as he looks at her. "I'm not going anywhere," he says.

Sarah looks at him, but remains silent.

"You can be a bitch." He laughs. "Hell, you can even stab me. I may be in the park up the street, but I'm not going anywhere."

"I know."

"Do you?" he presses.

She meets his gaze and nods. "Yes." And she does. She knows that Derek is one hell of a soldier, but she also knows this long ago ceased to be a mission. Derek will die to protect John, not because he's the future leader of the human resistance, but because he's Kyle's son.

"You don't have to fuck me to keep me around."

Sarah flinches and then glares, willing herself not to consider how many times she lived that scenario.

He steps closer. "When was the last time you were with a guy because you wanted to be with him?"

She shrugs and looks away.

"When?" he presses. "When is the last time you shared a bed with someone when it wasn't part of the mission, when you didn't want or need something from him?"

She shakes her head, unwilling to answer the question.

"Kyle?"

She screws her eyes shut for a moment and then finally forces them open, looking at him. He's staring right back. Their eyes are locked for a heartbeat, then another. "Yeah," she says. "Kyle."

He nods, not at all shocked by her words. Slowly, he turns around and grabs his beer. "I'll be on the porch if you need me."

[end section]


End file.
